The Bull and His Wolf
by Meegan
Summary: Gendry's PoV on all that happens during the T.V scenes, the third chapter is ep. 4 various pov's will probably do it every week as long as there is a good enough scene or it might just be a bit of random fluff
1. Chapter 1

**Quite pleased with how this turned out^^**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing wish I did**

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**Episodes: S1Ep10, S2 Ep(1),2,3**

She was a sprite of a thing, as small as can be with a mouth too filthy and large for her own good. He had first thought she was a little craven squire that some hedgeknight had wanted rid of, then she started giving Hotpie and Lommy some of their own medicine. He had to do something he couldn't just let the two idiots get skewered, even if they were just little idiots trying to prove themselves amongst a group of backstabbing, murderous lot. Then again he couldn't defend them or they'd just think they were right and take revenge during the night. So he did what seemed to be the only awnser, diffuse the situation by scaring them all. Seemed to work, they ran off quick enough and now he could see the gleam in the newcomer's eye, he knew why it hadn't been an issue at all. Maybe he hadn't been lying about killing a boy, but he didn't care, they were all off to the wall midst a brewing war. The blade the squire had was of some interest though, you didn't get metal like that around here, at least not amongst them.

He couldn't really help but scoff when he insisted it was a gift. On the other hand, he really didn't give a toss, he wanted to be armorer, fat chance of that happening now, even if he could apprentice at the wall they didn't have Thobo Mott as a teacher. So he marched off, sooner or later though the lad who had a temper like something fierce was trying to chat away and ask about blades and armor and they slowly struck up a friendship, he took the youngster under his arm he told himself, but in truth she had simply chosen him. He didn't realize that Arry was actually a girl until much later, they were just more or less always in each other's company, either by choice or task delegation or both he suspected when Yoren looked at them both.

They both didn't really speak of home too much, not that he'd ever really had one and Arry, well he just seemed to shut down but sometimes he'd get a look in his eye as if he had seen all the sorrow in the world and at other times, when they spoke of the wall and who was there and what they'd do when they got there well then, he'd get a mischievous glint in his eyes and once even said, "Maybe Jon'll come back with me to Robb, then they'll see", Gendry asked what he meant and got a smack and the typical accompanying "Stupid Bull, what's it to you?". The kid gave him whiplash and sometimes he didn't seem ten or even close. The kid was weird about things like how men japed or swore at times saying he was too pretty to be on the wall, that the wildlings would take him, thinking him to be a girl.

He hadn't seen Arry ever get that wound up before and started calling everyone liars,(one of his favourite words) Yoren put a stop to it before Gendry had to save his hide from getting scalped. Seriously sometimes the kid was a pain in the arse and couldn't see how dangerously close he was heading for trouble.

It was the same with the three prisoners Arry had to go up them every now and then, pretending he was doing something when all he was doing was spying. The boy had too much courage. Then he started noticing, it wasn't on purpose he just noticed that when he'd get up to take a piss, Arry would turn away and he could swear he even blushed once. It wasn't normal, then he started to notice the kid would just suddenly disappear and reappear, it was creepy how silent he was. Then the incident happened, or at least that's what he called it in his mind.

Arry was meant to be helping him with the waterpails and they were mid-conversation too, then suddenly he turns around to hand over the bucket and he's gone. So he went off to look for him and that's when he saw him, or better said she , squatting and anxiously looking around just not where Gendry was. He immediately headed back to the river with his ears burning. Well that explained that. He hadn't meant to spy on him, her. By the time he, she returned his tips were still red, but he didn't say anything. Strangely though it explained a few things, i.e. why he had once or twice found himself staring into those steely grey eyes wondering how they had really really long lashes, and thought how full her lips were for a bloke. Slightly relieved, he decided he would talk her about when she was ready. There was a reason for her hiding beside all the rappers, and what was she doing heading to the wall anyway?

He slowly found himself grinning when she'd draw her brows together and would smile when she started going off in the huff, it was quite endearing in a way. It just wanted to make him keep her safe, that was normal wasn't it? The girl didn't have anyone else. He was protecting her.

Strangely enough they spent even more time together, that's why he eventually asked her what her story was. It felt like a blow to the gut. He'd killed her father, he had meant what he said, people always ended up dead when they asked him questions. When he was little he had fancied his mum was actually some knight's wife in hiding, being protected or something, it was a stupid fantasy but she was so pretty and well he always seemed to land on his feet somehow or another. Now there was another person asking questions, a little beautiful girl, who he knew he thought about more than he should, telling him that she was a Lord's daughter, then saying she wasn't a lady. Of course she bloody well was, explained how she thought she ruled the world and that everyone should bloody well answer to her. It also explained why she had behaved as if the secret was dangerous, it could kill them. Then he realized the magnitude of her position, of course she would think the Goldcloaks were looking for her. He sure as hells didn't know why they were looking for him, he had an inkling but he pushed those thoughts as far away as possible.

He stumbled trying to rectify all the mistakes he had made, she was a lady and here he was behaving, well better than most but still as a baseborn bastard. Then she pushed him and it started to snap him out of it. He remembered muttering something, about it being unladylike and then she pushed him again sending him sprawling. He had to laugh, the girl, Arya, she, well, she was just something else. How she declared not to be a lady and then storm off like one. She was adorable and beautiful despite the muck, the thought crossed his mind as he watched her march away, then the thought caught in his throat. No, he couldn't be thinking that, not now, not ever, not now especially. She was Arya Stark, daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, shit, she was a fucking princess, sister to the King in the North. What the hells was he going to do? He pushed himself off the ground, stole a glance back at her tiny figure, still stomping away, he couldn't help but grin, she was still Arry, no matter what.

He teased her mercilessly for a while when they were truly alone, and she started to open up. She told him who Jon was and he couldn't help but get this strange twinge in his stomach when she spoke of him and her eyes would glow, he hadn't made her glow like that yet, but he would, he promised himself. He was just protecting her, and trying to make her a little happier, even if she was one of the most resilient people he ever knew. She was one of the most brilliant people he ever knew, and funny too. It was difficult to see where Arya begun and Arry started. That's how he found himself nearly constantly by her side and sleeping there half the time too.

It was also why he never said anything when she whispered to Yoren in the barn and was polishing her blade, he suspected she had used it, even though he hoped she hadn't. She couldn't speak to him about things she'd seen, he father's death and her sister. Sansa she had called her, said she was pretty too, unlike her. The silly girl had gotten it into her head she was ugly, but every time he tried to tell her she wasn't or that he had never met a girl her age as pretty as she was and that he couldn't think that anyone was more comely than her, with her steel dancing eyes and dark locks that even looked good in a boys haircut (things he knew he shouldn't think, or say, and that he might be gelded for even thinking those things, either by Yoren, her family or even by herself, and would most definitely be beaten for by her if he said it) but every time it was on the tip of his tongue his ears would burn red and his throat would tighten and he would just feel lost. So he listened and pretended to sleep as she spoke with Yoren and immediately rose when they heard the clumbersome noises of the Goldcloaks.

The Lothrak was right about her more courage than sense, "I'm not scared", he was shitting himself nearly and this little sprite of a thing wanted to go out and kill something. He was going to keep her safe, he really was going to, he promised Yoren. He'd sling her over his shoulder if he had to, but he would keep her safe. At least that had been the plan, then they saw Yoren confront them. He pulled her back from rushing in but not soon after he was storming in himself leading the attack on the cloaks! The goldhatted bastards had killed Yoren, Yoren who had kept them safe, Yoren who had become a bit of a father figure, Yoren who was a solid swordsman, Yoren a good man, one of few left. Gone. The bastards had taken him. Like fuck was he going to let his death go unchallenged.

He didn't actually believe he was letting Arya come in after him, but he didn't really notice she wasn't there until he was fighting the sods, he realized he had sort of expected her to be there to cover his back as he did hers, she was nifty fighter anyway, all the times they had play sparred with sticks. They'd teamed up before as well, but he didn't really think too much, it was all swinging and punching and letting his rage run free. But it was over before it had started, he didn't really know what he had been playing at anyway, but now they were standing in a row and he knew he really should learn to think. Now they were asking for Gendry and here he was just offering himself up to them practically, he'd promised to get Arya to Winterfell, like that was going to happen now. He couldn't help the fear coursing through his veins as they called out, someone was going to rat they always did, but he wasn't going without a fight, not chance in the seven hells.

Then Arya stood out, Arya, the one person he trusted, the one person he thought wouldn't betray him, but her voice was oddly steady and his gut told him to listen to what she was saying first, she wouldn't betray him, would she? Not after he had kept her secret? Or did she fear they'd find her out, so she'd sell him out to save herself? She wouldn't! Would she? Not Arya. No. Still he couldn't hide his confusion or panic completely, and then she spoke that stroke of genius, "You want Gendry, you already got him". It was true he loved that helm, but he had forgotten it in his attempt to protect her. He just wanted to scoop her up into his arms and kiss her in relief he wasn't going die, that was as long as no one else ratted.

He had intended on saving Arya, but she had saved him. She had been saving him from the moment they met, he just never knew it. He would make her smile that special smile like the one at the stream, the one just between the two of them. He would make her laugh and he would protect her whatever came, he would follow her wherever, do whatever she asked because she was Arya Stark , his brave little wolfling girl and God's be damned would he ever serve anyone else.

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**Please Review! Will hand out bull-shaped cookies!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't know how this ended up longer than the last one it just did, this was per request of softballlover298 so I thought I'd give it a go^^ It's basically the scene where Arya is talking to Yoren. **

**Thank you to -06, Aw, softballlover298, Princess Britny, ChibiGirl91, Laura Scofield and Booth Seeley Booth for reviewong. I've been enitrely overwhelmed with the responses I've recieved and how many people have either added it to their Alert or Favourite Lists, it seriously makes me glow.**

**Oh here are bull-headed cookies to any people who I forgot to give them to!**

**A/N: I thought I'd ought to explain this is an attempt at limited 3rd person pov with the hints of Stream of Consciousness that's why it's a bit dodgy in parts, I also ship the hell out the two of them (really? :D) but in retrospect the age difference seems more pronounced in the T.V. show so I will try to tone that down for now, on the other hand in medieval times things went a little faster on the maturity front, but still. **

**I only just noticed he says he'll fight too afterwards, but I still think he looks kinda scared :D So that's why there's a little line at the end pointing that out**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing wish I did**

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She was sitting there like she did every night, he didn't understand and he knew he wouldn't either. She just kept sharpening her sword methodically, always stroking downwards. Maybe she was just pushing her thoughts away, he always took a hammer out on his thoughts, but he had always been the blustering one, just smoldering under the surface and then explode. But Arya, Arya was different. Different didn't cover it though. Sure he'd heard the rumours about the savage Northerners , hadn't held much stock in it though. So what if they prayed to a bunch of trees? And maybe they were right about doing the execution if you pronounced the sentence. Always had seemed cowardly to him, to get someone else's hands covered in blood. The nobles in the south played with lives far too easily for his liking.

This however, he'd never heard of. She was harsh no doubt about it, but the way her eyes nearly drowned in sorrow as he peeked through his lashes, pretending to sleep like he always did, as she continued her routine, it was crushing. It wasn't right. He couldn't understand, he'd lost his mum too soon to really know what it meant, didn't mean he didn't wish he had someone, but he couldn't begin to comprehend what it must be like to have that someone and have them ripped from you forcefully and unjustly by her accounts. He'd never really paid much mind to court but apparently court paid mind to a baseborn bastard and he didn't like it. Not only 'cause they might want his head but more because he was worried what Arya would do if they tried to take him.

She'd started to trust him and that was something that seemed terribly hard for her to do, he didn't want to throw that away, but he also knew the war wouldn't last forever and their friendship would have to end. Bastards and Princesses didn't mix, not even in the songs. They never made songs about Smiths (even if one of the Seven was one) and the only songs of tear-away princesses were tragic ones and she'd seen enough tragedy to last a life time, and the war hadn't even really started yet. The peasants died but so did Lords in these games, usually in a much more gruesome display.

She knew that better than he did, she'd told him about Nymeria and Lady and the Royal Prick. He had to laugh at her and a Direwolf, would make sense her having a wild animal as a best friend, they were so closely related he'd told her and earned himself a thwack with a stick in return. Whenever he opened his mouth he seemed to get some sort of punishment, but she'd smile and laugh eventually and that made it worthwhile. Once she'd even said that, Jon would have liked him; that was the highest recommendation he would ever get from her, then he accused her of getting too sentimental and she went back to her old self. It wouldn't do for her to associate him with Jon for far too many reasons. He felt heat rise up the back of his neck in joy but also he also felt his heart drop for a minute too, he was heading for the wall, that was that. There was no place for him. He'd probably be dead soon anyway, either war or the Goldhats would get him, or knowing him some other stupid piece of bad luck like by choking on something. He hated his life sometimes, whenever something was good it'd go bad. Always. He just prayed to the old Gods and New that he wasn't going to be the reason for her death too.

She was so methodic though, cold almost, but she was quick minded and tough too, if someone could survive his curse, she probably could. He really wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of Needle. Sure he beat her, every time when they sparred, he was strong, but she was fast. Dangerously fast. If she didn't kill you at first go, he'd bet the wounds she'd leave would do you in. She just needed to train, which he helped her with whenever he could. She'd sometimes get that same look she had now, entirely focused, as if there was only one thing left in the world and that was a target. He had a horrible suspicion what was going on through her mind when she'd start cleaning the blade, when she thought everyone else was asleep. She rarely slept, and it would tear at him when she would whimper or accidently thrash at him, when she did. He didn't need anyone to tell him she was suffering, no matter how hard she tried not to show it.

As hard as steel she was, no sign of a weakness when she was awake, just a bluntness to her sometimes. Like now when she'd told Yoren she couldn't sleep, even if there was a hint of defensiveness. Then again Yoren should have known by now, she wasn't going to be told what to do. Aye, she was no lady for sure, still highborn though, there was no denying that, she just couldn't see it, and she called him the stupid one. Yoren was right though, he couldn't keep carrying her or loading her onto the wagon whenever she fell asleep from exhaustion, which had only happened a few times, she had never said anything though. It was always as if it had never happened. Too proud the damn girl was, but he wasn't expecting any thanks, it wasn't them. He'd be her crutch and let her say she was helping him, it was simply what they did. It was an easy friendship and a more dearer one, than he should allow himself in these times. Either one of them could die, but they were both different from the rest, they knew they both had secrets, even if he wasn't sure what his was. All he knew was that it was as dangerous as hers, with the difference that she at least knew what she had to be on guard against.

But she didn't seem to be quite so on guard now, as she half whispered with an unfamiliar uncertain tone that she didn't like the taste of wine. Not that he approved of Yoren offering, but if it made her sleep properly for once and if he thought it would drive away the ghosts haunting her, he couldn't care less. Yoren wouldn't force her to drink it, he knew as well as anyone it would only do so much, besides half the people that drank only became more morbid, which would be stupid. Instead he started to settle as if he was going to go to sleep and Arya just watched him, with an emptier gaze than he'd seen her with before. He hated night time, it only left you to your thoughts and nothing good ever came from that. He couldn't really see her properly from the angle he was lying, so he just tried to listen closer, as Yoren asked her with a hint of amusement and resignation what she wanted.

She paused, which she hardly ever did, it was usually straight to the point, now though she hesitated, something that made him perk his ears. There was a vulnerability he'd never really heard in her voice, when she'd told him her identity there'd been a tinge but this was far more pronounced and it caused a heaviness to take hold of him, this wasn't how she was supposed to be. She was always meant to be a fire burning in the North, that was where she belonged. She tried to make her words sound light, but she wasn't fooling anyone. She was more fragile under the façade, than he had even imagined. He could tell, he couldn't hear the scrapping against the steel as rhythmically as before and Arya might have more control over her face than most, but he knew her too well. Sometimes she'd forget when she'd lie to him in the face about missing Sansa or other small little things, he never told her though, he'd just look into her eyes and then watch her walk away. She couldn't even bring herself to ask Yoren properly, it was as if asking for help was showing a weakness.

She didn't believe him when he said it wasn't if you did sometimes and that you have to vent or it would eat you up. She hadn't liked that one bit, threw at him that he didn't know single thing and if Nymeria was here that she'd make her eat him up. So he never mentioned it again, she was asking Yoren and that was something at least. Even if it was a half arsed question.

He guessed by Yoren's reaction that they were referring to Ned Stark's beheading, he hadn't been there either but he'd heard of the outrage and reaction of his daughter and the small council. Most people thought Joffery was right, but then most people were out for blood and the others for the spectator's coins. He hadn't known that she had actually been there, had she hoped to stop it somehow? Fight her way through the crowd? She had actually stood there and heard the crowd cry out for his death, heard how the mob wanted her father's head? She bore witness to that? And she didn't mention it to him? It stung but on the other hand, he knew she couldn't trust anyone properly, not in case they sold her out. Still stung though, he could tell it was just breaking her heart and that she was unbearably close to tears.

His hand twitched as he heard her breathing hitch, her voice was wavering and all he wanted was to tell her it would all be ok, that he would guard her as long as it took until she was safe with Robb in Riverrun. Still she didn't cry, not a single tear, but she was teetering so close to, he physically felt the need to sit up and engulf her in his arms, to tell her that she could cry, that he wouldn't tell anyone. That he would help Robb take Sansa back if needs be. But he was meant to be asleep and she sure as hell wouldn't thank him for it, not now. She'd fight him and Yoren was the person she could talk to, needed to talk to. She was right he'd seen things, on the wall. He was just a bastard boy still green from summer. She needed a worn weary solider, a grown man to guide her through her grief, a father, not a friend nor a brother. She missed her father even if she tried to hide it. He'd known but he hadn't known how deeply it had left a hole in her heart as he heard it slowly bleeding out, all the while she was trying to stich it back together with broken strings, as she sharpened her sacred sword. He'd only been allowed to hold Needle once, it was all she had left of Arya and he felt her reluctance and understood the symbolism it held in him holding it. He never asked again.

From furtively looking through his lashes, he heard the heavy silence and saw Yoren's own walls drop down, with a look as if he was conflicted himself. Why would he be upset? How could Yoren and Arya be in any way similar? What in the seven hells could they have in common? But Yoren spoke with the softest voice he'd ever used and he felt himself intrigued to what could possibly cause this grown man pain still. Then he explained, how his brother had been killed basically in his own home, what the hells had led to that moment? Why would someone do that? Murder in cold-blood in front of an entire family and then run off? Then having to watch and know you could nothing to save them? Yoren understood Arya in way he would never or ever could, even if he wasn't so slow.

It wasn't funny that he couldn't remember his brother anymore it was sad, twisted and bitter, he prayed to the Gods, Old and New, it wouldn't turn her like that. Would she forget her father's face and instead only see the Queen and Prince? What of her sister? Would she forget what she looked like too? Would she carry the anger too, like a burning flame, tearing at her soul, like he had? How could anyone hold on to a fury like that for so long? He could make out the signs on Arya's face, as if she was slowly thinking of something as Yoren told her with some angry pride how he'd murdered Wihlem with an axe in his head, so deep he had to be buried with it. She'd stopped cleaning her blade too and he could tell thoughts were swirling through her mind.

Yoren tried to make light of it, but there was no fooling him nor her, things like that don't just go away, not when he was confronted with his deeds everyday wearing black. Almost like he was still in mourning for his brother. Death did something to people, it seemed to break little chunks out of them bit by bit. No one here was whole, but it seemed the two strongest people he knew, were the ones most broken. He hated it, not matter how hard he tried, his little wolfling girl would never be whole.

A mended sword is never quite the same and some things can never be reforged, but he was a blacksmith. If there was one thing he was good at it, it was receiving lumpy chunks of iron and steel and pouring blood and sweat into them, making something ruff into something beautiful. He was no Thobo Mott, but he wasn't half bad, he knew his helm was a piece of art, but when he was done with Arya Stark, he knew it wouldn't even compare. She would be his masterpiece, he might never make her like she was but he swore to himself, he would be there to pick up the pieces if they ever started to come away, as long as she and the Gods let him. He and his little wolf pup they'd fight the Goldcloaks and Winter itself to get her to her family and make her happy once again, even if it was the last thing he done.

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**Wolf-headed cookies this time to any who review ^^**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi people !**

**SORRY this has taken a while, I only watch the episodes on Monday and I had my last final written examination on Wensday, I still have an oral exam but that isn't quite so pressing, I also didn't feel very well at all, so SORRY again for taking my time on this. **

**Thanks for reviewing to :Megton, xxsupernaturalgalxx, GhibliGirl91, softballlover298, Booth Seeley Booth, Lady-von-Strife and tammgrogan**

**And thanks to all the people who have put this on alert and on their favorites! I've been blown away again ;)**

**Anyway so although this is mostly a Gendry X Arya-centric FF, the last episode was just too flipping brilliant to leave it at Gendry and Arya, so in this chapter it's a collection of other poV's, I might post a Ros or Joffery pov-chapter but due to the nature of the scene it would have to be a M one-shot. Anyway the next chapter is a Gendry chapter, for the same episode, possibly with a short Arya snippet too, I just don't want it to become too repetitive :D**

**A/N: Experimenting a bit again on style :D oh Sandor is consistent with the book character IMO, it has been implied on the shows though. Oh also didn't go into the final scene too much because I think what he was thinking was very evident, " WTF?" :D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! It all belongs to HBO and GRRM, trust me if I owned the characters/actors … well I doubt they'd be on screen :D – they'd all be otherwise indisposed :D**

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**Robb:**

Who was this girl? So far from home, what could have possibly drawn her here? Dark locks and dark eyes, they say dark wings, dark words. She carried dark words too, carrying words questioning his cause, sowing seeds of doubt. He knew these men's blood was on his hands. He hardly ever bothered washing it off now, it never entirely came off even when he tried. His hands were constantly tinged red, reminding him of his crime and sentence; it also reminded him of his cause.

Who was she? Tulisa of Volantis. Who was she to question him? To allow the Lannisters to go unpunished would be forgetting his father, it would also mean allowing a false King to remain on the Iron Throne. The Iron Throne, she was right. What was he going to do after this war? He was destroying one Kingdom and forging an entirely separate one. People would expect him to rule the South. He was the North. He wanted his sisters, he wanted his father, he wanted justice, he wanted honour, he wanted Winterfell. The South could burn for all he cared.

But that fisher's son, what did he know of Winterfell, or honour , or Ned Stark? He had rather died than live a cripple. He had held him down, had forced him to lie still till he passed out from the pain. The lad knew fish, the waves, the cold of winter, the bite of hunger. Who lived in a castle or on a throne didn't bother him until it was his death being called as it had been with the Mad King.

She had called him on all the shadows buried in his heart. The boy, strange, the lad was older than him and referred to him as a boy, had been unlucky to be born on the wrong side of a map, nothing more, nothing less.

Grey Wind came trotting over ignoring the camp members; he was Robb's silent companion, his other half. "You think what we are doing is right, don't you?", he asked the wolf directly looking into his eyes. He could swear the wolf understood his words, as he began to lick his face. "The lad was lucky you were there", he had told her with a sense of admiration for her work. "He was unlucky you were", was her reply.

No one challenged him so blatantly, except Roose Bolton. Flaying people? He shook his head in disgust, no they weren't in the North but he was King of the North and Bolton was his Bannerman, he would answer to him, "Perhaps a visit from you, might remind him of his fealty, helped Umber remember fast enough. What do you think Grey Wind?" Without any sign, the wolf left for camp and only turned to look at his master once, as he stood gazing off to the fading cart.

No, she was no one to concern himself with, not whilst he had a war to lead. Even if she was pretty sight amongst a sea of death; a pretty sight, with dark eyes and dark locks and a dark temper too. He grinned as he recalled her countenance and obvious unaffectedness by his person. She had some mettle to travel amongst soldiers and work in these conditions, conditions that sent grown men running, never mind women.

No, Tulisa of Volantis may be a woman, but not incompetent. Tulisa of Volantis was a distraction, one he couldn't afford, for all he knew it could be a cub of Tywin Lannister. Men lost their heads in two manners, by a sword or by a soul, but even as he chastised himself for even wasting a single thought more on her, he was picturing her in the dark of his tent, under the dark of his covers, with dark lust dancing in her eyes, with his hands through her dark hair. Tulisa of Volantis, his dark dream had already settled in the shadows of his thoughts.

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**Sandor:**

This was sick. This entire nation was sick. This court of puppets and puppeteers were paupers in robes dancing to tunes playing a thousand melodies. This court failed to see the one thing though. The song they were dancing to, was a symphony of pain and madness. This vile creature that sat upon the throne, they all pandered to him, even when he demanded things that went against the core of all humanity.

She was in agony, she was in despair, her sanity was tumbling to the ground before their feet, her soul pouring from eyes as the tears streamed down her face, her dignity was being torn to shreds by a bastard who took as much sick satisfaction from torturing his flightless bird as the mad lion cub, they were ripping her identity from her and stomping on the shattered shards that remained.

It turned his stomach, he couldn't look on her face, she'd see too many thoughts and her eyes were too expressive to not draw him into her drowning. He was a dog. What was a dog without a master? He had no choice. He would not show he had a mistress dragging him to his demise with every breath she took. Not to a mistress who didn't want him. Who could ever want him?

He was rooted to the spot, his eyes looking anywhere but on her. He would not touch her, but he could not help her, his life was nothing, but it was all he had. He didn't believe in knights and he sure as hells wasn't one. He took no pride in his white cloak; it should be Lannister crimson, based on all the blood he had shed on their behest. It astounded him all the same when it was a Lannister that demanded he don the white for once, in handing her all the sympathy and affection that he could in the form of a simple white rag.

Monsters and heroes only existed in reverse in this reality south of the Neck. How could it be that the only two people on the room making any attempt of helping her, where the stuff of children's nightmares? A dwarf: a stunted little man, that killed his own mother by tearing through her womb, just so he could exist; and a man with half a face: a melted face and warped thoughts evident in his visage; and she was considered a monster herself, a wolfling princess, sister to a savage with sorcery over beasts, perhaps she a sorceress herself. They were considered the monsters, but then why was it, that it was the King that was displaying evident arousal at her beating?

He took a deep satisfaction at Tyrion's promise to Meryn. It is also made him ponder whether he and the Sellsword were so different. Bronn could play the role of knight, because his owner told him to, they were both dogs searching for a bone, he had just chosen the one that wasn't covered in rotten flesh.

He hadn't realized how deep the rot had festered until he had allowed the King entrance to his name day's present. He did not approve of the situation and it made him uneasy that he should bear witness and stand guard to this debauchery, but if it protected his little bird from being beaten again so soon, he would condone it. He had no time for whores but not every woman could maintain the role of maiden in their lives, life was a scrap and struggle, you did what you could to survive.

He hadn't anticipated the screams of terror and agony though, the monster was his master and he could not move an inch, his stomach turned and he fought with every fiber in his being. Men were bastards, he knew that, men enjoyed sick things, but what in the seven hells could this boy be commanding, to elicit such bone-chilling cries? Even when his Grace returned with deep satisfaction on his face, he remained still. Only when the faint whispers of footsteps stopped did he enter the room, to see the red-head crouching in the corner with tears slipping down her chin. e turHe turned to see the bloody mess and spilled his own body contents onto the floor, retching with a silent prayer escaping his lips, "Not Sansa".

* * *

**Littlefinger:**

They were certainly well manned, just ill managed. Renly was a fool, a funny fool, he'd give him that, but a fool nonetheless. He was as honest as Ned Stark, another fool, and as boisterous as Robert, another dead fool. Well Renly would die too someday; everyone had their role to play and their time to play it in this dangerous game. Renly was not the investment though, he had a choice of game play, and he was just too thick and moral to see it. His wife now, now she was interesting. Certainly well trained and schooled by the Queen of Thorns. He had to grin, "My husband is my King and my King is my husband", this girl had potential. She would outlive that fool at any rate. If however, Renly became King, it would be his wife that would the attention not him.

He cared not a whim for Renly though and his wife was of measured relevance for the moment. Cat, she was all he wanted, all he'd ever wanted, he needed her, he would have her. But she saw only Brandon, then only Eddard, but she would see him ere the Winter was through. He had waited seventeen years, he had built for seventeen years, he will not have wasted seventeen years.

She was a lengthy investment, one he had so far only reaped few rewards from, but they would be all the sweeter in the end. So many ways to play this hand, so many conflicting emotions raging inside him, but as he stood before her it started to fall away. She was as beautiful as ever, grief making her eyes more piercing and the blue truer still. Yet she rejected him again and again and again, he had tried to help her idiot husband, in a fashion, he could have made him the most powerful man in the Kingdoms. He needn't tell her how he chose to limit his help.

His outburst was both honest and calculated, anything less than an honest emotional reaction would affirm her beliefs in the rumours and he needed her to hear him. If only to set the stage. He didn't know where Arya was, but he could not have her know that, he needed her trust, any ill towards the girl would later easily be explained away and he knew that Sansa was all but well, but he need her sisterly love.

In spite of it all being planned, it still hurt as much as the first time she rejected his kisses in the halls of the castle after a drunken feast. No she always learned to love fools who didn't care for her, but she could never bring herself to love the man that had sent a Kingdom tumbling just for her and he would send another tumbling too. Robb was no green lad on the field, but he had a weakness in his camp he never knew of. The one person he considered to be his strength. His mother. Cat, his darling Cat, would always play the part he planned, because her only crime was loving too much, it killed a part of him but he loved too much too.

* * *

**Davos:**

So the wolves had sided with the Stag, they always did. He held Lady Stark's words well placed but Stannis was law, Stannis was justice and Stannis was King, Renly was green, Renly was ill-spoken and Renly was a deserter. Yet here Stannis was lying and Renly was brazen, they were both wrong and he agreed this outburst would be better resolved at a later point. He also did not trust the Red Woman and he trusted her ever less as she spoke her twisted blessing, "The night is dark and full of terror."

He knew something was amiss even more so as Stannis spoke to him. He was to forsake all he had been taught? He was to do that for which he had been punished? "A good act does not wash out the bad or a bad act wash out the good." Those had been the King's very own words and here his King was asking him to commit a bad act, that he knew he could not wash out? Something was foul and he knew anything involving that woman was to be avoided by any cost. He had seen her take the poison, had seen her smile in face of death, and had seen her corrupt a pure harsh soul into something becoming ever more unrecognizable. However it was Stannis that was asking, albeit with the witch's words. War was unclean, that was the way things were, Stannis was asking he told himself, he too knew this deed was dark, for she was not Melisandre but "the red woman" as he spoke, and for Stannis he would do anything, he just hoped he wouldn't have to rip out his own heart to give to the Lord of Light, because that he did not know if he could.

* * *

**Jorah:**

She was being hasty, threatening with promises she could not keep. This was the garden of bones and they would make the garden grow too if the Thirteen so chose. Yet there was dissent, something he took close note to, was this Xaro friend or foe? She had her dragons to protect but the dragons would not survive without her, of that he was sure and currently she was perilously close to dying.

She was fire and blood, the mother of dragons they called her, but she was the first dragon: both beautiful and dangerous, but she too was still growing and at this rate she would not grow old. She had much to learn and he was an old bear eager to teach, as long as the dragon didn't eat him first.

Even as Qarth open its gates, he saw relief flood her face but instead only dread made its home in his heart. They were walking into the vipers den, sipping poison and thanking them for it in return.

* * *

**Tywin:**

These useless tools made him turn his nose in derision, he did not care for their company nor their methods, but war allowed little room for choice. They could not see the potential these peasants held, for example the boy on the chair, he had a stubborn set to his jaw and a look of strength. They could use him, either as a laborer or even better, the lad was a smith by trade, quite useful indeed.

Looking on into the pen, where the prisoners were kept, he couldn't help but smirk. She certainly was a fighter. The idiot had failed to notice she was girl, though how was quite beyond him. With nice cheek-bones and nice eyes, she was quite a comely girl despite her birth. Smart too, travelling in boys clothes, it certainly was safer especially during these lawless times. That wouldn't protect her from the jailers' wrath though, they were plain men, but they didn't like it being made obvious. She had some courage too, refusing to bow and for a second he thought she wasn't going to talk to him or address him accordingly. She did not seem particularly affected by her environment either. Shame she had been born into such a lowly class, she would have had such potential in court under correct tutelage. Most high class girls were completely oblivious to their capabilities and possibilities.

If only his daughter had shown some of the brains this lass possessed, the Kingdom wouldn't be in such disarray if she had. Still there was nothing to be done, the only thing he could do was keep her from a relevant length of Polliver and the Mountain, yes she would do well as cup bearer, perhaps as an informant too. These were times of war yet it would not do for the King's grandfather to not uphold the law, even if Joffery himself was not maintaining it. Nonetheless his mother was to blame for that, how she turned out the way she had, he would never know, he had done his best to be a good father. He had business to attend to, he had no time for dealing with these men and Tyrion had been sent to deal with Cersei, the only man that should be demanding his attention was Robb Stark. He would chew that wolf pup up in one manner or another, it was only a matter of time.

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**Tried to round it off by starting with Robb and ending it with Robb in a fashion :D First time I liked Tywin so it will be interesting to see how they relate Arya's behavior to him, I will have a Gendry chapter up soon, before Sunday evening, I don't know how long it will be though :/**

**PLEASE REVIEW! Will bake Lion cookies (with a severed head ;D )**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi people !**

**SORRY this has taken a while, guess people were quite so convinced with the other pov's sorry just had to do it :) **

**Thanks for reviewing to : softballlover298 and GhibliGirl91**

**And thanks to all the people who have put this on alert and on their favorites! Seriously the list just keeps growing! I will get around to thanking you personally just busy atm :(**

**A/N: hope it's not too repetitive or soppy, oh yes at the end of Gendry's pov, it's like a mantra him steeling himself against what's going to happen, I sighed so loud when he was saved! Like seriously, the relief :D - WHY DO THESE CHAPTERS GET LONGER? I DON'T HAVE THE TIME! STUPID MUSE !**

**I might elaborate Arya's pov eventually but not until I get my exams out the way with, sorry. I also most likely won't be posting next week but the week after – so you'll get two chapters in one week, it's just not possible with my up-coming exam sorry! Hope you enjoy the end of both pov's (the contrast in their outlook ;D )**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! It all belongs to HBO and GRRM, unfortunately *grrmph***

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The marching never stopped, only at night for a few hours when not even the soldiers could keep up with the pace. It was a hard and fast pace, even faster than the one Yoren had made them keep. Yoren, he should have listened to him, they might not be in this mess if he had. He couldn't help but grimace, they were all running ragged, with their hands and feet shackled there was no chance of escape though. They'd been marching for days with barely any food or water and they were showing it too. Not that the gold-hatted bastards cared if one of them died on the way, they just took off the manacles and kept on moving.

His anger was boiling in his stomach but there was fuck all he could do about it, not about the guards or the cuffs or anything not even Arya. Arya was looking thin and her face was starting to close to him, she was turning harsher and colder by the moment and he didn't know what to do. The truth was, so was he. He had stopped going over the scene in his head, he doubted they could have gotten far, the company had attacked several villages on their way to Harrenhal, adding to the number of captives. Now he just held his tongue and tried to keep his anger in check, until it was slowly glowing at a low ember in the pit of his soul. Any sign of resistance and there'd be a beating for sure.

The air seemed to grow mistier and damper each day, by the time they had reached Harrenhal, the weather had started to seep into their bones, turning their moods as bleak. He couldn't help but stop in awe for a moment though, there was a deep chilling mystery to the ruins. What in the seven hells could do something like that? "Dragonfire", she'd replied. It was the first they had spoken aloud and it took him by surprise, ever since their capture they'd limited all conversation to looks and glances. They always understood each other, but it didn't mean that he knew what was going on in her head. They had whispered though that first night, it was better they didn't speak, and he made damn sure Hotpie knew that too. It was safer, if the idiots thought they were plotting they'd gut them and chances were Hotpie would give away his name and that would cause all sorts of trouble, for all of them. So far no-one had ratted him out, something he was grateful for and equally surprised by, what or who was keeping them quiet he wasn't sure. He hadn't really struck up any sort of friendship to any other than Arya, and Hotpie had just sort of stuck to him.

She too seemed to glance in measured surprise for a second, it was raw and brutal, it held secrets old and it looked haunted, but still it held an eerie beauty, what was possibly going through that head of her's though he couldn't guess. Was she thinking of her father? Of Winterfell? Of Robb? Or Jon? Or was she plotting?

He knew her, there was no way she was going to bow down to the Lannisters in any shape or form, but she was being stupid if she thought they could escape yet. He had a half shaped plan in the back of his mind too, because they would find out who he was and even worse who she was sooner or later and he wasn't going to be sticking around for it, but they had to get rid of the shackles first.

Of course Hotpie had to stop and look what they were doing, the kid wouldn't leave either one of them since Lommy had died. He didn't know Arya was a girl yet though, it was the one thing he could do at the moment and he wasn't going to bugger that up too. It was his fault she was here, but it wouldn't be his fault that anyone found out about her and rape her. He had no doubt they would, they already had to the other women.

He'd done his best to shield her from the noise and sight without showing just how much she meant to him. He couldn't scoop her up in his arms, no matter how much he wanted too; he couldn't cover her eyes or ears either, all he could do with Hotpie was sit in front of her and block her from the sods' view. Even when her eyes had gotten watery and her face had blanched, he couldn't whisper in her ear, that he would keep her safe, all he had done was take her small clammy hand in his, squeezed it and looked deep into her eyes, with the vain hope she understood the silent promises he was sending her. They would have to fight him first to get to her, he wouldn't stop fighting for her ever, she was all he had now, all that mattered to him, he would get her out somehow, she was going to see her family again and he would take her to them. As long as he had air in his body he'd do all he could to keep her alive, she was the Princess of the North, the only person he'd ever serve, she was Arya. The guards had noticed the connection though and kept them apart the following day, for once his was happy they didn't give them much to eat or drink and she'd managed to keep them fooled for another day. Since that day though, she'd been quieter still, the only sign he now got to guard her was a low raspy cough and they'd find a way to slip away for a minute.

When she spoke now her voice was cold and harsh, Hotpie was the only source of amusement but not even his stupid questions could make her smirk. The boy knew nothing, he was hopelessly naïve but even he was shocked at the tone she spoke to him as she told him the smell was of dead people, she just turned and walked away without a second glance to either of them. She was made of the strongest steel he'd ever encountered.

The first sign of weakness he saw in her was when they heard the crying, she looked as if she was fighting with herself, then again when the woman never answered whether or not they always took someone. The screams were shattering and the sound of the flesh being torn apart made his entire soul shiver in dread, they were in an evil place and it was all his fault. He'd failed her in every imaginable way. They were going to die and there was nothing they could do about it. As she turned to him with a flicker of fear in her eyes he couldn't bear to look at her. He couldn't offer her any reassurances, because there were none he could give. He couldn't send her any silent oath because it would be just another promise he would probably have to break. He didn't want to give up, but how in the seven hells were they meant to escape this? He was scared shitless himself and he tried not to show it but so was she. They knew this could be their end, this hellhole of a shitplace and it was all his fucking fault; running like the stupid bull-headed bastard that he was into their hands and he had let her come with him. She'd asked him questions and she was going to end up dead, just like everybody else.

That night was the first she started whispering those names to herself, "Joffery, Cersei, Ilyn Payne, The Hound." She had lain down in the mud, her knees half in a puddle, with her feet curled behind his back, sometime during the night, wedged between himself and the post he had sat against. Each name was a stab to him, he knew they had nothing to with him, that he didn't even know who she was talking about, but the names hadn't started until he couldn't give her comfort, he had deserted her and now all she had left was a list, a prayer as Yoren had called it, it was all that was keeping her sane as her voice held a desperate note.

He sat guard the entire night; he felt her shivering as the rain started to pour down, it was eating him alive, the guilt. This tiny little thing, this little girl, this beautiful little girl, this little wolf pup was dying inside, with every breath she took. She was lying in the bloody mud with soaking clothes and a dream of death uttering from her lips, how in the seven hells had this happened? He should have kept his mouth shut. He should never have spoken to Ned Stark, he wouldn't be dead and she wouldn't be here. He felt his throat tighten as he watched her sleeping form, with anxiety clearly spread across her face, she didn't belong here, she belonged in a castle or in the forests with her direwolf or up on the Wall with Jon, she didn't belong in a pen with a hunted bastard.

He couldn't even lie next to her to keep her warm, the goldcloaks would pick either one of them in their sick pleasure of keeping everyone alone, the same how they had taken the woman's family from her, just because they were a family. All he could do as he felt despair prick in the corners of his eyes was pray to every possible God there was to keep her safe and hope that all his life was flowing through her feet, the only sign of comfort he could give her.

He didn't know when he had dosed off but he was being awoken to the sound of men commanding them to wake. They were choosing their next victim. Both he and Arya turned away, the only sign of their worry, she even knew the man, he cursed their luck and swore under his breath, she was a wolf no doubt, still a sign of defiance in her eye. Why Hotpie believed that man he'd never understand. The moment he had told him of his plan, he just knew the man was next, he got that Hotpie just wanted to believe something would keep him safe even if was some stupid ritual, he still felt for the lad as he started pissing himself. He had been so worried about Arya he'd forgotten Hotpie was just a boy too and a craven one at that, still nothing could be said or done and their torment continued.

The days and nights seemed to flow together, it was all a blur of screams and pain and fear and death. The nights were cold and the days were empty, it numbing and slowly it was just a question of time till one of them were going to be picked, she continued her prayer with an evermore pleading tone, as if it was all that was real, it was all that was keeping her alive he feared and still he'd sit at night against that wooden pole drifting in and out of reality, sometimes he imagined her brother would come ridding through the gates, he didn't know what he looked like but he knew it was him, other times he'd somehow managed to get an axe and they were cutting through the manacles. His idiot plan didn't matter now, if he'd been able to get anywhere near a forge they might have been able to do something, but with all the guards it was still a far off fantasy.

It didn't matter that he'd known he was bound to be chosen soon, it was still a shock and terrifying as The Mountain called him out. He was ripped out of a stupor he hadn't even realized had taken hold of him, it had felt like he had been drowning in other men's agony now he was being thrown in the same ocean and it made his lungs claw out for the air of life, no one survived the torture, even if they had no more answers to give they were killed out of sheer sick pleasure.

Her eyes sought his with the first sign of emotion in weeks, it was fear for him and desperation. She was scared, Arya Stark was scared and she was scared for him, for him and her secret, but still Arya Stark was scared for him, scared for the bastards boy life whose fault it was that she was here in the first place.

That split second gave him strength. He set his jaw in defiance. He knew fire, he knew heat, he knew the blistering pain of metal on skin, he knew that he could handle that source of torture better than most, he was a smith and he was fire as much as the flame. He would not scream, he would not break, he would quell the panic blooming in his chest, he would bite on his own tongue ere he revealed the agony of the rat's teeth against his torso, he was not Gendry Waters and she was not Arya Stark. Even as Polliver began his questions, he started breathing through his nose in heavy defiant breathes. He knew nothing. He knew nothing of the village. He knew nothing of a Brotherhood. He knew nothing of gold. He knew nothing. He knew nothing. The squeaks of the rat didn't exist, there was no frantic shredding at his vest, there was no sweat dripping down his skin, there was no blistering heat from the bucket. There was nothing, nothing but Arya Stark's pleading gaze of fear. He was nothing. She was no one. There was nothing, nothing, nothing but duty to her, nothing, nothing, nothing but his oath to her. They would never know, never, she would never know, never. No one would ever know. There was nothing. There was no one.

Then there was no flame, there was no burning, no rat just the neighing of a horse and everyone stopping, relief flood through him and he was breathing again. Never in his life had he been so glad to see a Lannister and more afraid. What in the seven hells were they going to do now? He'd been spared his life and Arya been ripped from him. A new sense of dread settled in his stomach. She had literally been welcomed into the Lion's den and he couldn't protect her. Worse yet though, what if Tywin Lannister recognized her? The Princess of North was on her own now and there was nothing he could do about it. He had lost his wolf to the Lion's jaws.

* * *

**Arya:**

There was death, all around. She fled it and ended up running to it. Syrio had told her run and she'd never stopped. She had run through the city straight to Yoren. Yoren had run straight into his death because of her too and because of Gendry. Gendry was good and funny sometimes when he wasn't being too stupid calling her m'lady. She liked Gendry, he had a secret too, the Goldcloaks wanted him, not her. Now though it didn't matter, none of it mattered, The Mountain had them and she was pretty sure she was going to die, but every night she said her prayer and she lived another day, just like Syrio told her, each day she'd say to the God of Death, "Not today".

She didn't think they'd take him though, The Bull, one of her pack, she said a prayer but not for him and now the God of Death was going to take him. Gendry was going to die, he was going to die in the most horrible way and she hated it, she hated him, why did he have to go and get picked? He was going to leave her, he was going to tell them her secret, everyone told Polliver their secrets. He swore to her he wouldn't, that no one would find out, not from him.

She felt Hotpie's stare, he knew Gendry was someone, especially to her. He didn't know she was Arya and not Arry, but he knew they were best friends, just like he and Lommy had been. He probably felt sorry for her, stupid Hotpie. She didn't need anyone, she was a wolf. She wouldn't need Gendry, she just, she just, she just what? She had been weak. That's what she had been. She had liked Gendry and now Gendry was going to die. People always died. Mycah; her father; Yoren and now Gendry. They were all liars too. Her vision was starting to go bleary, no she wouldn't cry, not for a dead boy.

Gendry was just sitting there with the most stubborn look she'd ever seen and hope started to blossom in her heart, he would die but maybe, just maybe he'd keep his promise. Then there was the pounding of hooves and an old man stepped down from a white steed, he was a Lannister she was sure, he wore their colours. She was not going to kneel. The North does not kneel, not to the South, not to a Lannister. She could kill him. If she could get Needle, she could kill him and maybe get the horse and ride away. She could kill a Lannister and ride to Robb. She looked into the man's eyes and he started to grin. She would kill him, she would.

But she was caught, she hadn't even managed to get Needle and she was going to be gutted. Then the man told him to stop and he knew she was girl. She would have to speak to him, she thought about not answering but she didn't have a choice, she tried to sound sweet and harmless, all the while she imagined him without a head. A small part of her was happy they weren't going to die and maybe she could even manage to get away with Gendry and Hotpie if they weren't too stupid. She was going to have to serve a Lannister though and it made her blood boil with hatred. He was Joffery and Cersei and Ilyn Payne and The Hound. He was Polliver and The Mountain. He was the reason she was alone. She would be his cup-bearer and he would die, that she swore on her life.

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**PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi people !**

**So first things first I am soooooooooooooooooooooooo sorry for this taking longer than expected, I done my exam last Wednesday and it went far better than I expected so thanks to all the well wishers ! Unfortunately I was totally exhausted from the extensive study hours and there were a few RL matters I had to deal with as well. **

**Thanks for reviewing to :** Elise Marie, Princess Britny, EatYourFudge, softballlover298, EchoOFanotherMind , Q, CheshireCat, dockfangirl, bluestriker666, DaliaGray, Draya Kane

**Sorry if I didn't reply to your review, I will in future promise it was just the RL stress! ;)**

**And thanks to all the people who have put this on alert and on their favorites! Seriously the list just keeps growing!**

**A/N: Seriously these last three episodes have been sooooooooo friggin' awesome however TWO episodes with a Gendry-no-show really throws a spanner in my work, plus the small-best-scene-of-the-show-so-far-on-a-fangirl-level doesn't provide tooooo much for my muse :/ **

**I promised two chapters so I will give them however it won't be two Gendry chapters – due to the lack of appearances - am totally enjoying the Tywin-Arya –Father/Daughter/who sort of want to kill each other-relationship ! **

**This spans episodes 5 & 6, episode 7 should be fleshed out in the next Gendry pov chapter, because I have a feeling something is happening soon, besides I can't just make up too many interaction scenes because it might make it AU which would be bad, but I couldn't resist that dialogue, I think it could have happened (was edited, before it was even more shippy)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! It all belongs to HBO and GRRM, unfortunately *grrmph***

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Every time things got as bad as they could, they'd seem to get worse. No he was no longer on death's door, as long as no one referred to him by name, but Arya was now teetering perilously close to the edge, one wrong word, one false look and she could be gone for good. It was hard for her, he knew having to bow down to the head of the family that had taken absolutely everything from her, her friend, her wolf, her father, her sister, her family, her freedom. He wasn't sure she could do it.

She was amazing in so many ways, but everything that he had made him come to care for her was what was making her new found role so very truly dangerous. She was harsh, abrasive, single minded, proud and stubborn and most of all she was a wolf through and through. The wild nature running deeper than just her blood, every look she gave a Lannister man, was one of contempt barely concealed by false meekness, every look behind the stubborn glare was a wish of death and the one she would sometimes give Tywin, when he had seen them together once, whilst bringing a sword into the castle for inspection, well that one chilled him to the bone.

Every passing day made him more certain their cover was going to be blown, because the moment she was exposed would be the moment he would risk life and limb to steal her away. Stealing her away was the one thing her service to Tywin had prevented, it was the one other thing he was thankful to the man for. Polliver would have had her in his cot before the sun had even set as punishment, however it also prevented him from stealing her, albeit for an entirely different purpose.

He was spending every waking minute in the forge and his thoughts were become as dark as the coals he kept glowing. She hadn't talked to him since the day he'd escaped the Tickler, she probably hated him, he was a smith, her smith in her mind and here he was hammering out swords for her enemies. It wasn't his best work he made sure a few had weak points but he couldn't risk too much, his work was checked by too many different people. One batch he had worked had been riddled with soft parts and brittle centres, shoddy handles and uncomfortable grips, it was his most brazen attempt at sabotage, he'd been lucky in many ways that day. The master observing him that day had lost his entire family, five children and a wife, to a Lannister hoard, he'd clouted him over the ear and pulled him into a dark corner, "Never ever do anything so obvious again boy, you still have a life and those two friends. You want to kill them and me too? Think I don't see what you do you little fool? We all do. You're not the only one that does it, not many get away with what you do. Never finished to become a master did you? That's the only excuse you have, you do any more of that and you'll end up skewered on one of your own swords, think how that's going to hurt with the shitty edges you've been making."

He knew what he had done was stupid, but it was the only way he felt like he wasn't betraying Arya, even if he was betraying himself. He hated making those shitty blades, even if he hated what they were being used for. It was the one thing he was really good at, the one thing that gave him any sort of peace. Forging was an art, it was the dance of metal, muscle and fire, it was the only home he had ever had, but something was changing. This wasn't Thobo Mott's forge and that had something to do with it, but it wasn't everything.

Something was different in him, a lot of the time when he was in King's Landing he would batter out the image of some drunk fool with leering eyes and disgusting teeth, other times it was some groomed Lord that hadn't kept his breeches laced, it was always the face of someone who might have been his father. Then as he got a little older it would be the fact that he would always be a Waters, if he became a master amourer he could maybe have another name, that made him spend his time over the coals, then it just became a part of him, the hammer became an extension of his arm and the rhythm the echo of his heartbeat, the searing heat reminded him of the blood running through is veins. He was an amourer's apprentice and all he wanted was his own small forge, where he could make pieces of art, that every knight would be proud to bear the sign of Gendry Waters.

Now everything was beginning to get fuzzy, he needed the forge, he needed to smith but it wasn't everything the way it had been for so long. He had someone now, he'd not been anything to anyone since his mother had died, he was just some brat that was paid well for to be a master amourer, he was a source of money nothing else, a good pupil at most. Meeting Arya though, no even before that in some ways, when Yoren had taken him, everything was becoming blurry and he hated it.

In the forge only his thoughts would accompany him, there were daydreams when he thought he was back in that cage, or strapped to that chair, days when they were back at the stream, how his world had spun out of focus then too. It all had to do with the secrets, his and hers, their secrets were haunting and taunting him. The Grey of her eyes would float before him with hateful stares or with an anger burning raw or worse of all empty and closed to him.

He needed to see her, to explain, he wanted to go to Riverrun, he would take her there, he had promised her, he had sworn it to himself. She was Arya of House Stark, she would be his liege-lord, as long she wanted him to be by her side, he was a stubborn bull with southern blood but he would remain in the north, because that was where he was starting to belong.

He was starting to understand why the forge wasn't enough, he needed to prove himself, prove he wasn't enjoying supplying the men to face her brother, what choice did he have though? She was serving the Lannister himself, surely she could understand. He needed to live to escape, to escape they needed weapons, they needed each other. He wasn't going to let her go on her own and she would go, that he knew, she would never say she needed him either, but that he knew too.

He knew they would get away together and take Hotpie too, but it was going to take time and time was the one thing they didn't have. She was the strongest person he knew, but everyone had a breaking point and she would be reaching hers soon, no one could be expected to see their father's murderer every day and curtsy with a smile, if she even curtsied. He couldn't help but grin, no Arya wouldn't curtsy even if she did like the man, she would never curtsy.

She was a she-wolf in the making and he prayed she'd remain the same, she was a savage feral beauty and taming her would kill her. He didn't really know when he'd started thinking about lords and ladies, maybe it was this place, imagining her rule a place like this in some stuffy dress, her being here made it all the more real. It was a castle and she was princess, it made him itch but he knew that day would come when she'd be in Winterfell and all he'd be was a smith she picked up on the road. She'd always be more than she knew and he'd always be less than she thought. She wanted to take him to Riverrun, but she didn't understand, if they went to Riverrun he'd get a thanks and be sent packing, he'd ask to fight and they'd give him a sword, he'd die and she would live and he would do it gladly. But when she had mentioned it she had had a hopeful gleam, she seemed to think they could stay the same, that she would be Arry and he Gendry, brothers on the way to the Wall, but it would never be allowed, a princess was never friends with a baseborn bastard smith, not even a warrior-princess.

He sighed to himself, trying to suppress the seed of sorrow blooming at the thought of eventually losing the only person that saw him for him, a friend, maybe a brother even, someone worth caring for, he had been so deep in thought that he hadn't seen her enter. She just stood there the grey sky reflecting in her eyes, with resignation on her face. There was no angry glare, no accusation on her tongue, no blankness to her face, she just stood tired with an apple in her hand, throwing it to him, seating herself on the edge of a stone, chatting away as if nothing had changed, as if they had never been parted.

After that day she came as often as she could, sometimes with food, sometimes with a tale and other times with just her silent presence. Then she told him of the threat. She had out and out threatened Tywin Lannister in front of other lords and he had known exactly what she was doing. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry, she was going to get them killed before he could fulfill his promise. It was just Arya, entirely Arya, he hadn't really expected her to do anything else other than threaten him, but he had fervently prayed to the seven she wouldn't, not that the Gods ever listened to his prayers, maybe he should go find a tree, might have more luck, besides she was of the North, they would probably look after one of their own, then again, it didn't matter here. He didn't bother chastising her, she wouldn't listen anyway. He just shook his head, and told her she should be more careful, that was when he really saw the cracks when she just turned around and said, "He will die Gendry, all men die."

She was slipping from him and there was nothing he could do about it. After that though she started to become more Arya again, she even half smiled occasionally, he couldn't make her smile properly here, there was just too much evil. Still she was changing too, this place was affecting her more deeply than he had thought, he needed to get her out before the fractures became too deep.

The day at the forge showed him just how deeply the scars were beginning to run. That whole day was confusing enough without the aftermath, she had been pretending not to watch, it wasn't the first time she'd seen him shirtless, but this was different. On the road it had always been fleeting and he would then stand guard as she washed, but it was also the fact that she was just sitting there. Any other girl and he would suspect what would be going through their heads, usually they'd be a bit older too but he knew similar looks from King's Landing, he wasn't as stupid as everyone thought him to be. He had always labored hard and that meant he was well built, he knew it, didn't mean anything to him though, if anything the girls sometimes watching him was more annoying than anything. Especially if they started to bat their eyelashes at him, especially the lord's daughters that sometimes came to Thobo Mott's he wasn't a piece of meat, not that any of them cared.

This was Arya though, his little wolf pup, his little wolfling Princess of the North, she was too young and too Arya to think like that, knowing her she was probably thinking where it would be easiest to stick Needle through and cause the most damage, that or that he was strong or that he could be useful in a fight. She was always thinking about practical things, he doubted a girly thought had ever entered her head. Still he hadn't seen her act so peculiar before and it set him on edge.

He didn't really know why he started to slash around with the sword, he had been practicing at night against a beam, the fight was long from over and he wouldn't be as useless as he had been before. If anyone asked then he was checking the balance. Then she had to speak, no of course not a word of encouragement just her telling him he was doing it wrong, she always had be right, no not a highborn, milady didn't have a clue just how highborn she sounded, it annoyed him and combined with the tenseness he already felt his words came out harsher than intended. She had only meant to help, and he knew that, she even knew what he was doing but still. Would figure though that she knew about sword fighting, she had always bested him when they had mucked around on their travels with Yoren.

Still the way she sat analyzing him, sent a chill down his spine, she was better than she had even pretended in the forest, that was sure. Still he could help a slightly bashful smile, she wasn't calling him stupid for practicing and in a way she was praising him, even if most people couldn't see it, her offering help, useful help, was not something Arya done. Maybe she could practice in earnest with him eventually.

Before he could even bring himself to ask though, they heard a commotion. Rushing to see what had happened, he stopped as he realized who it was lying there, he couldn't hang around for too long or else they'd maybe start pinning it on him somehow, he wouldn't shed any tears, no one would for that fucking bastard. Before he left though he thought he saw Arya smile the most fullest and chilling since coming here.

Something was going on inside that head of hers and he suspected it was dark and twisted. This place was infecting them, it would turn them inside out until they didn't recognize themselves anymore. They needed out and soon. Not long after he saw Arya being chased around the courtyard by some cumbersome man named Lorch or something stupid like that, but in that instance he hadn't cared, what the hell had she managed to do that had sent her running like the Stranger himself was on to her.

He dropped the shield he'd been forging once he saw the sheer panic on her face, the last time she'd looked like that was when he was on the chair. This was bad, something was seriously wrong, what the fuck had she done, he tried to catch her and pull her around a corner so she could tell him what had happened but she was in too much of a panic to see him, the last thing he saw her do before he lost sight of her was pulling a long red-headed man around to face her and then run off. She was looking for the bloody Lothraki, what in the seven hells had she gotten herself into? What did she want with him?

His blood was pounding in his veins, whilst anger and concern started bubbling in his stomach, why was she turning to him? How had she fucking got involved with him? He was bad news, he knew that much, and she was seeking him out? He had told her to staying damn well clear of him and she totally ignored him. The rejection stung for a second, he had thought she knew she could turn to him for anything. He would do anything and everything for her, how could she not know?

He tried confronting her about it afterwards, even if his anger was rolling off him, he wanted some damned answers, she was keeping secrets from him and he needed to know.

"He nearly knew" , was the only answer she would give him, no matter how hard he pressed, no matter how angry he got, she wouldn't tell him why the Lothrak and helped and she wouldn't answer how the man had nearly known, "Gods dammit Arya, you need to be more careful. I told you no one would know from me, I swore it and I promised Yoren to keep you safe, don't go making it so hard."

His rage was boiling, he would need to go the forge afterwards, he tried to keep his language in check she was still highborn, but hells was she making hard with her stubborn attitude.

"I won't, besides I never asked you to keep me safe, I can do it myself. Stupid Bull, why would I want your help anyway?"

"You don't need my help. Fine, but I swore an oath m'lady" , he stated with his jaw squarely set, he hadn't ever been angry at her before, but how was he meant to keep her safe when she kept him out of the loop?

"Don't call me that", she hissed pushing him.

"Arya", he grabbed ahold of her wrists and kept them still whilst looking deep into her eyes, "I will keep you safe I promised, we will get out of here and we will find your brother, just please, please don't do anything stupid, I know you hate him. I know. Please though. All men die and so will he but please, let the King kill him."

"Why would Joffery kill him?"

"I said the King, not Joffery. Arya, you saved my life, Robb is my King and that makes you a Princess, I'm only a stupid bull as you call me, but I will keep you safe, it's my fault you're here anyway."

"I'm not a Princess, I'm just Arya"

"I know but that's not how Tywin Lannister will see you nor the other Lords."

"But Littlefinger didn't …"

"Littlefinger? You mean Lord Baelish? He was here?"

"Yes he was here and…"

"Wait a minute you know Lord Baelish and you had to serve him? Did he recognize you?"

"I don't know, maybe, possibly, Gendry it doesn't matter he's gone."

"Gods dammit Arya, you could have told me. Arya please, please be more careful. Tywin is not stupid."

She guiltly looked away and realized he was still holding her wrists, quickly letting go, he stepped back and possibly looked slightly bashful. He'd said more than he wanted too and though he didn't quite say how she was his wolfling princess and that he was sure as hells going to keep safe even if it cost him his life, it was more than he'd ever really said in one go and she would just punch him for it anyway. The moments he had called Robb The King though, he knew he meant every word. He was now a part of the North, the cold harsh people were the only ones who had ever shown him any sort of sign that he was worth the breath he took, Jon Arryn, Ned Stark and Arya Stark most of all.

He might only be a stupid stubborn bull, a lowborn bastard but he would fight for what he believed in and right now that was one person, his little wolf pup, who was too much a warrior for her own good. She was a pup not fully grown, her teeth and claws too blunt right now, but by the Old Gods and New what a fearsome sight she would make when she was grown, but first she had to survive, and that was his responsibility, whether she liked it or not. She would be a Wolf-Queen yet, if he had anything to do with it.

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**PLEASE REVIEW – Will hand out Mockingbird cookies! – or a Gendry torso – your pick!**

**Feel free to criticize the dialogue either due to AU-ness or due to the actual dialogue itself :)**


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